


night air

by siddals



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siddals/pseuds/siddals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Things you said under the stars and in the grass</i>. [fic written for a prompt]</p>
            </blockquote>





	night air

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a drabble, and ended up getting a bit out of hand. I found Kokachin/Nergui's ending really really disappointing and wanted to explore a scenario where she might be alive after the season finale (regardless of how likely that is in canon), so this sort of happened. Content warnings for alcoholism, past rape and suicidal ideation - nothing super detailed, but obviously part of the territory with these two characters after the second season.

The feast is too loud and so she wanders away.

Nergui is not entirely certain of where she is going, only that she wants to be gone. The Khan is drunk once more, loud and raucous, and his men follow his example. The air inside the Khan’s tent feels too hot, pressing at her from all sides, and so she slips away when no one is looking.

She walks, hardly caring where she is going. She only wishes for her breath to slow.

Much has changed since she was last in Xanadu. Kublai prepares to move on Japan, while Empress Chabi fades with sickness and grief. She has never truly forgiven Kublai for ordering their son’s corpse desecrated, even after learning of Ahmad’s treachery. She has left court, and taken the children with her. Perhaps, Nergui thinks, it is a kind of apology, a reprieve from seeing faces that look entirely too much like a dead stable boy. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Empress merely thinks her deficient, a mother who can do nothing for her own children.

The Princess too is gone. The fears of poison in her food, the trouble rising from bed, the urge to stick a knife in her belly or walk into the water, they all persist. But the Princess has not visited her since the birth of her children.

People hardly meet her eye now. The scar Prester John’s men gave her, the one that runs bright and red across her cheek, unsettles them. _Such a pity_ , they say, _what a beauty she used to be_. She still has her beauty, she supposes, if one has an unflinching eye.

She still lives. Her enemies, her children and even the call of the water have all failed to kill her. The Eternal Blue must not want her, she thinks, with faint amusement. It keeps spitting her back.

The summer air is warm against her skin and she allows her breath to return to usual. She is here, she thinks, and she is alone. There is nothing to fear. She allows her eyes to shut.

There is a noise, the rustling of grass, and she startles. A figure stumbles forward, unrecognizable in the dark, and her hand goes to her dagger.

The figure comes further still and finally, she can make out a face. She breathes again. It is only the Latin.

His limbs appear loose and his eyes red. Everyone drinks at these feasts, but few as Marco does. The men laugh, saying he is the only man who might out-drink Kublai one day. She does not. He seems scarcely ever sober these days. Drink has eaten at him as surely as madness did her.

“Are you well?” he asks.

Quickly, she realizes what he must think. He’s found her, wandering in the grass alone, far from the feast. He must think she is raving.

“Are you?” she asks, her tone sharp, “I can smell it on you.”

He shrugs, offering her a weak smile.

“It’s a feast,” he says, “we’re all trying to forget our troubles, Princess.”

“And if you drown yours in wine and airag, Master Polo, allow how I manage my own.”

“I did not mean to insult you,” he says, his tone gentle, “I was merely concerned. Forgive me.”

She sighs. There is no point in being angry with him, at least not for this.

“Why are you out here?”

“I was merely - “ He breaks off, appearing to lose his train of thought. “I was returning to my ger. I saw you and I thought–I thought I should ask after you. I worried.”

Her chest tightens. She watches him, stumbling, his eyes wide. _Even now,_ she thinks, _without guile_.

She pushes the thought away.

“A little early to leave the feast,” she says tartly, “Perhaps you should send her back wherever she belongs. I suspect you’ll be of little use for her tonight.”

He shakes his head, seeming oblivious to her barb.

“There’s no she. Not tonight. Not for some time, for that matter. My head merely–it demanded I retire.”

“Oh,” she says, “I see.”

She almost wishes to reprimand him, but thinks better of it. He may not remember this in the morning. Even if he does, he won’t listen to her. There’s little point.

She hadn’t known what to feel when she realized he hadn’t gone after all. Eventually, she decided to feel nothing. Nothing had changed. He was Kublai’s servant and she was nobody, Princess No-Name, a thing exhausted of purpose but allowed to remain.

“We have not spoken much,” Marco says, “since my return.”

“No,” she says, “I did not seek you out.”

She hadn’t wished to see him. She hadn’t wished to see anyone.

“I know,” he says, “I only wish to say to you - “

She does not know or care what he wishes to say.

“Do not speak to me,” she snaps, “You promised me lies. You told me whatever I wished to hear to get your Khan’s precious heir out of me and then you disregarded it. Why should I seek you out?”

He looks stunned, as though he’s been slapped. _Good_ , she thinks.

“No,” he says, “That wasn’t - “

“What part is wrong, Marco?”

“I thought it best,” he says, “I saw no other option. I knew that Jingim cared for you, could protect you - “

She laughs.

“You are a fool, Master Polo.”

He is silent for a moment, moving his weight from foot to foot.

“Perhaps,” he admits.

She turns from him, biting at her lip to prevent the tears from coming. She does not wish him to see.

“I am sorry, Nergui,” he says softly.

Her true name rings in her ears long after he is gone.


End file.
